


in your feigned retreat, I'll follow blindly in defeat

by partywitharichzombie



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Belgian Grand Prix 2019, Constructive criticism kindly requested!, Italian Grand Prix 2019, Japanese Grand Prix 2019, M/M, Mexican Grand Prix 2018, References to a Fatal Incident, Singapore Grand Prix 2018, Singapore Grand Prix 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partywitharichzombie/pseuds/partywitharichzombie
Summary: All this was supposed to be but a bleed valve designed to ease off the mounting pressure of the competition.Still, they continued orbiting each other like stars in a binary system: closer, closer, on a collision course with a non-zero chance of mutual annihilation. Still, Daniel had little desire to contemplate the nature of whatever it was they'd become.(Singapore 2018 through Japan 2019. Encounters, non-encounters, and everything in between.)
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	in your feigned retreat, I'll follow blindly in defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Chambers by Tamino: _"Well, I'll surrender first tonight / In your false withdrawal / You'll have me rise, you'll have me fall // I won't be worthy of this fight / In your feigned retreat / I'll follow blindly in defeat"_

**I.**

It started not unlike a squall: sudden, impetuous, violent. A tug here, a shove there, a fervent desire to rob each other of air.

Although perhaps 'sudden' wouldn't quite be the fitting word for it, had Daniel heeded the signs at all: the way Charles would look at him through his eyelashes (awe-filled, glimmering, heated), the way he'd tilt his head whenever he spotted him (lips curled, neck bared, smile rich with a hint of a secret), the way he'd make deliberate touches when they were at arm's length (a hand on his shoulder trailing down to his bicep, a nudge on his knee when they sat next to one another, a supposedly courteous hug lingering some heartbeats too long).

And heeded the signs he did.

Daniel had wondered  _ why,  _ all right. To what end, what had Charles been really after, why  _ him _ —but he'd have been fooling himself if he'd denied being interested.

Daniel began noticing at the last race prior to the summer break. He'd decided against taking his chances, however, should it all turn out to be but mere figments of his imagination. Or perhaps he'd been too untrusting of his ability to keep from feeding into his tendency for greed, to keep from desiring for  _ more.  _ (Tip: place your bet on the latter.)

One night, though, the ache of loneliness had worked in perfect tandem with his feeling particularly reckless. It landed him at a rooftop nightclub somewhere in Clarke Quay which name he couldn't remember: the lighting dim, the thumping of drum and bass almost ear-shattering, the sheer number of people packed pretty much shoulder to shoulder making him positive he'd be able to keep from being recognized—ah, the woes of, quite literally, living life on the fast lane.

The set by the apparently semi-famous DJ was decent. Daniel just needed to make sure to keep his alcohol consumption in check, and maybe there would be a distinct possibility he wouldn't wake up next to a stranger sans any recollection of the night. He'd been reprimanded for much less a violation of the disciplinary code than showing up on the paddock hungover, but black had been laid upon white, and the ink had dried—he'd be jumping ship next year anyway. And as long as he'd be able to deliver results, little would it matter, wouldn't it?

Looking back, he wouldn't want to have it any other way—of all people Daniel had expected to come across in the city-state of five point six million, it ended up being  _ him. _

Coincidence? Synchronicity? The universe trying to tell him to get a move on and dive headfirst into what could end up leaving a trail of destruction upon its wake, considering who they were, what they did for a living?

Alas, he was in no way at any capacity for rational thought nor wise judgment calls that night, so he didn't bother thinking it through—not when Charles had left him with no other choice but to simply say  _ yes. _

"I could get you into trouble if I tell anyone at Sauber you're out here," Daniel teased when they managed to move away from the crowded dance floor to a significantly quieter area. "Even  _ I _ stayed put during my rookie year."

Charles laughed. For a passing second, the LED spotlight illuminated his face just so, the cyan hue accentuating the mischief in his dilated pupils. It took a while for Daniel's brain to register the hand on his waist, and another on his sternum. Since when had two pints of lager been able to affect him to such an extent?

"I won't be their concern for much longer," Charles leaned in to speak directly into his ear, the warm breath brushing against the shell raising gooseflesh on the back of his neck.

Daniel wanted to ask what Charles had meant, he wanted to hear him confirm plain and clear what had been swirling in the rumor mills, but the hand gripping his waist started traveling lower, and the other one on his chest higher. One was now cupping his face, thumb sneaking between the parted lips; the other tracing circles on the inside of his thigh, sneaking beneath the fabric of the ripped denim.

Despite his best efforts, Daniel's mind ceased to resume normal function, traitorous as per. All the more disorienting given how stark a contrast it all was against Charles' smile: almost too sweet, flirting on innocent, but really anything but.

"Looks like I finally have your full attention."

Charles' tone bore no indication of any doubt in his statement.

_ "Yes." _

Again, what else was there to be said?

* * *

Even if they'd ever been blessed by the virtue of patience, it would've been negated by the excruciating period of  _ maybe, maybe, maybe  _ anyway. They'd have to settle the matter right that moment, right where they were.

They stumbled together to the restroom, leaning against each other for balance on the way—it was deserted, thank all the higher powers Daniel wasn't quite sure he believed in. How very convenient indeed.

When the lock to the cubicle farthest from the entrance fell into place, a slither of doubt made its way into Daniel's mind. There they were, possibly about to step beyond the point of no return—but it didn't have to mean anything, did it? Before it could run further astray, however, his train of thought was immediately interrupted by Charles' shoving him against the cool, tiled wall, the force enough to make his head and shoulders ache. Charles stepped into the space between Daniel's legs, the grip on his sides tightening. Their noses were but a hairsbreadth to one another.

"Yes?" Charles tilted his head, eyes bright with cunning.

Daniel wasn't sure if he'd rather wipe that maddening smile off his face with a hit or a kiss. (From what he'd gathered thus far, both might very well be on the table, if the future had anything in store for them at all.)

"Yeah." Daniel nodded before reaching to grab the side of Charles' face, thumb pressing the soft muscle between the base of his jaw and the curve of his chin, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

Patience was not a virtue of theirs, but despite the initial trading of blows, they would then slow down enough to savor each other—the slide of their tongues languid, the iron grips on each other loosening, replaced instead by caresses that erred on the side of tenderness. Daniel's hand settled for the back of Charles' head, guiding the kiss, urging him to grant further access to his mouth. When they parted for air, the bright red of Charles' swollen lips matched the flush of his cheeks.

Charles appeared to be meaning to speak, but before he could do so, Daniel had spun them around and reversed their position, though his shove gentler than Charles' had been. They'd get there in due time, should they desire as such, but Daniel would rather they'd be doing it with some degree of responsibility.

Whatever Charles had wanted to say was instead replaced by a sharp gasp when Daniel moved in to kiss the side of his neck, left hand pinning him in place while the fingers of Daniel's right hand dipped beyond the hem of his trousers. Daniel's mouth shifted lower, more fervor going into the sweep of his tongue and the sucking of skin knowing that any mark he might left behind would for the most part be concealed by a layer of Nomex.

It was Daniel's turn to curse against Charles' collarbone when Charles one-upped his advances by unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans before Charles slid his hand into the opening with such ease. Even atop the fabric of his boxers, Charles' caress sent a shiver down Daniel's spine, although skin hadn't yet seared skin. It took a lot for him not to chase the contact.

Daniel's answer was to sink his teeth on the base of Charles' neck where it met his shoulder, just quite deep enough to leave an impression, all while retaliating to his earlier approach by freeing him of the constraints of his trousers and underwear altogether in a sequence of swift movements. It earned him a choked "Fuck, Daniel," when he ran his palm along the length of his dick. Heavens, how captivating it was to hear the sound of his name escape Charles' throat in such a way, the lush accent of his only serving to precipitate the crumbling of his self-restraint.

The hand that wasn't busy fumbling to push Daniel's jeans and underwear down to mid-thigh tugged sharply at his curls, guiding him up so their lips could meet again, with more hunger and urgency this time. 

Patience was not a virtue of theirs, and the limited reserves they did once have were finally depleted.

Daniel pinned one of Charles' wrists against the wall before pressing against him, trapping them tight, flesh against flesh. Desperate, they rocked against one another, Daniel's other hand gripping Charles' hip to guide him closer to him, broken, uncontrollable moans they fought to bite back escaping them as they chased the friction. And still it simply wasn't quite enough.

So Daniel let go of Charles and withdrew slightly. Ignoring the silent protest apparent in his dazed look over the loss of contact, Daniel presented a hand before his face. The curl of Daniel's lips was laced with promise of imminent peril, or so he hoped. "Spit."

He didn't miss Charles' soft whimper and lip bite before he did as told. Good. Daniel liked knowing he had the upper hand—or the impression of such, at the very least. For all he knew he might very well be the one whose strings were being pulled, but little did he care. He had Charles where he wanted him to be.

When Daniel wrapped his hand around their erections, he couldn't help but let out a shuddering groan which was echoed by Charles' sharp, keening gasp.

Daniel started with strokes slow enough to be infuriating, coating them both slick, but he found himself unable to hold back quite so much, what with the hot breath against his clavicle as Charles muttered encouragement in whatever tongue Daniel did not speak, and the slide of their dicks against each other's on his palm that made his knees weak.

Looking down and taking in the sight of their cocks at the mercy of his touch was really quite overwhelming,  _ holy fuck. _ Daniel bit lip to re-center himself, pouring his full attention on Charles—measured flexing of his fingers and palm just on the right side of firm, thumb caressing the head, all in fluid motions he still somehow managed despite their slightly awkward position. Gradually, he picked up pace.

Daniel felt Charles grab either side of his face, tilting his head up, and he let himself be pushed until his back was against the door behind him before submitting into Charles' bruising kiss, jaw slackened and mouth open for the taking. And take Charles did, the push of his tongue ravenous and sloppy. The fingernails raking at Daniel's scalp and the sting when Charles bit into his lower lip a little too eagerly made him lightheaded, but he didn't break rhythm.

The swirl and flick of Charles' tongue against his and the nipping and sucking on his lips grew increasingly erratic with his every stroke. Charles was thrusting into Daniel's hand, frenzied for every last bit of touch, not bothering to bite back his moans anymore, all inhibitions worn away.

Charles came into Daniel's hand with a splintering cry that sent a thrill down his spine, the tension strung taut in Charles' body snapping like a bow finally releasing an arrow as he collapsed towards him. Daniel took Charles through it by pulling him to nuzzle at the crook of his neck, fingers weaving through Charles' hair in slow, circling patterns. For a moment Daniel forgot about his own unfulfilled urge. But how was the pressure of his erection, trapped between them, pushed flush against his stomach, to be ignored for too long.

"Now you," Charles whispered to Daniel's ear once he'd brought his runaway breathing to relative control. Slightly puzzled, Daniel watched Charles step back and grab at the roll of toilet paper, handing it to him before giving him a pointed look and a thin smile. "I don't want any on my hair."

And Charles then sunk to his knees, head tilted in silent invitation that really was redundant, the mere sight of it all throwing Daniel off his axis. Really, though, how gone was he already? He cleaned off his hand in a haste, tossing the balled up paper in the general direction of the waste container without care. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to cup Charles' face, stroking a thumb on his cheek. 

"Fuck," was all Daniel could think to say when Charles took him in, and Daniel knew right then he was never going to last very long. Everything seemed rather surreal: the sight of Charles' darkened lips wrapped around Daniel's dick instead of giving him deceivingly bashful smiles across the room, the slick noises every flick of his tongue made, the keening, encouraging hum whenever Daniel failed to keep himself from thrusting into his mouth. He could've exhausted every cliché to try to comprehend the current circumstances he was in, but Daniel found himself bled dry, his brain disgraced to the barest minimum of function, his nerves singing with the thrill of it all.

Daniel bit his lip as a distraction. A little longer, just a little more—

It was Charles' hollowing out his cheeks before yielding to him, taking him deep that finally did Daniel in. All he knew then was how singed every edge of his reason was. Pleasure awashed him, everything was but static and crackle of white noise as Daniel threw his head back and came in Charles' mouth.

* * *

"That was—"

Charles was back on his feet when he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and smiled. "Yes."

In the charged silence that followed they made themselves presentable again.

Daniel almost wanted to invite Charles back to his place—or ask for his number, at the very least, but the chilling aloofness scratching at the surface of Charles' smile after he'd thanked him and kissed him goodbye rooted Daniel to the spot and left him tongue-tied.

* * *

**II.**

Surprise, surprise, the allegiance of the team was increasingly shifting to the other side of the garage since Daniel announced his imminent exit. The balance had been tipping against his favor for a while, but the strain was approaching its critical load limit, then—he might have just accelerated its reaching the point of failure when he crossed the finish line in the dying seconds of the third qualifying session as the fastest driver.

The crews celebrated as they would any other time. The pitwall? A different story.

To be able to show them how significant a hollow they'd have to fill come his departure had been Daniel's sole purpose when he stepped into his car. Then the words reached his ears of how the higher-ups had reacted to his clinching the pole position and denying his teammate yet another youngest-ever record. He laughed until he was gasping for air.

Never before had it been oh so satisfying to wipe a smile off someone's face. Such powerful a force, spite.

* * *

The race could've been, should've been his for the taking. And  _ how _ he wanted to deliver.

Spoiler alert: his car gave up on him, the story of his season.

Daniel climbed out of his car in a haste, as protocol dictated, and desired little else than to disappear. He felt the overwhelming need to put out the fire and fury coursing through his veins, lest it all exploded in the ugliest way possible. Perhaps he'd make another door fall victim to his rage. Perhaps he'd let himself scream on top of his lungs as he'd done a couple of races prior. A little showmanship on the side, surely the dear audience would enjoy the despaired wailing of their hero whose wings were clipped  _ yet again  _ in his quest to touch the sky?

* * *

The knocks on the door to Daniel's driver's room were decidedly on the louder side. His press officer or PA, perhaps, coming to retrieve him for the post-race team briefing, or really, a round of reprimanding for what he said at the press pen an hour or so prior. Just what he needed. But maybe not, not for the next few hours at least, as the team had to be too busy celebrating his teammate's win, surely.

Any other occasion, any other outcome, Daniel would most likely be out there with them too. Being gracious in defeat had been something his parents ingrained in him even before he'd stepped into a kart, as competitive he'd been even as a kid, but for the time being he simply had to make an exception.

He was still very much on edge, the adrenaline from being on track yet to wear off, but goodness, was he drained. The urge to thrash the room had been clawing at the back of Daniel's mind since entered the space, but even shifting from where he'd been sitting seemed like too much of a hassle. He'd thrown an empty water bottle across the room, but even it landed not too far away.

He ignored the knocking. Team members would've called if it had been anything of urgent matter.

His phone lit up just then.

A number not saved in his contacts. Bemused but intrigued, he answered the call.

"It's me," the person on the other end cut in before he could say a word. The voice was not one to be mistaken.

Daniel wanted to ask Charles how he got his number, how he even made it here. He wanted to tell him to get lost, but by all beings holy, he could really use a distraction, someone who'd be willing to become collateral damage. Who'd be a better candidate than  _ him _ , considering what had transpired in Singapore. True, they'd eased back to relative normality since then, but he didn't mind, really. Though he'd held hope that it might lead somewhere interesting, he'd expected very little. Take the crumbs or simply leave it. Beggars such as himself were in no position to choose.

Dragging his feet to reach the door, he nearly tripped on the race suit he'd discarded haphazardly as soon as he arrived. The smile on Charles' lips when he greeted him did not reach his eyes.

Daniel stepped aside, gesturing for Charles to enter.

"P7, huh? Cracking result, congrats." Daniel squeezed Charles' shoulder, lingering too long as per, but he dropped his hand when Charles' response had been but a quick thank you and another thin smile. "Drink? I've got beer in the fridge, I think. Or water, if you prefer."

Charles shook his head before sinking into the chair Daniel had been sitting on prior to his arrival, running a hand at his still-damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He folded his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. "So I'll see you next at winter testing, then? In black and yellow?"

It took Daniel a second to catch what Charles had meant. He snorted and shook his head slowly. "Seen my interview, huh."

Charles didn't reply, and his gaze carried a hint of judgment which Daniel did not much appreciate.

"What? You know I tend to spew utter nonsense."

"You're running away from the fight."

Okay, where was he going with this, really, Daniel wondered.

"Fuck's sake, Charles, if I wanted to be crucified, I'd be watching Ziggo or Sky instead."

Charles shrugged, an incredulous expression on his face. "Why say there's no point in doing the two remaining races, then? Sounds like giving up to me." He rose from his seat, approaching where Daniel was leaning against the wall.

"As I said—"

"Bullshit," Charles spat, cutting Daniel off. They were now face to face. "You meant it."

Perhaps he did. God, he was oh so weary—and his brain failed to supply him with any rational explanation to whatever it was Charles was trying to achieve. Thank you ever so much.

"Maybe I did," Daniel sighed, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I'm just tired, alright? Jesus."

"And because you're tired, you're just going to give up?"

Ah, the naïveté. Sometimes Daniel forgot how idealistic Charles could still be in spite of everything he had gone through—he still was young, still was a rookie, afterall. Or Daniel might've been actively avoiding thinking about it. Out of sight, out of mind. Never had he claimed to be a good man.

"Eight DNFs this season so far. Eight. Back to back this race and last," Daniel almost snapped, making wild gestures with his hands. "It eats you up inside, mate. I'm fucking done with being angry, it gets ugly fast."

The icy gaze fixed on Daniel had softened slightly, tinged with what he thought was either concern or pity, and it was making him increasingly uncomfortable. He looked away.

"Is that what happened with you and Max? Things got ugly?"

Daniel's head snapped back to face Charles again, mouth hanging open. "How did you—?"

"I have my ways."

Daniel wasn't sure if he imagined the taunting smirk Charles flashed as he said that. "What—does that mean?"

Charles denied him an answer.

They held each other's gaze. Not quite a stalemate, as Daniel knew how much of his thoughts his eyes were betraying. Charles, on the other hand, was looking at him with a gaze not unlike the edge of a blade. It was enough to make him decide against prying further.

It was all overwhelming.  _ Charles knew.  _ Not knowing how to process the bombshell that'd just been dropped nor how to proceed with the current situation truly alarmed him.

"It's not what you think," Daniel said finally, tearing his eyes away briefly. "I don't know what we were thinking. It was meant to be…" He trailed off, sighing.

"Just for fun?"

Daniel tried to hold back from barking a laugh and failed. "I wouldn't exactly call it  _ fun _ . I guess it was our fucked up way of trying to figure out what's going on around us.  _ Between  _ us."

Charles nodded, gaze softening. "What changed?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Everything." Daniel was yet to eat anything post-race, but something sat like lead on the pit of his stomach all the same. "Not like it wasn't always going to blow up in our faces, anyway."

"The first person you want to beat…"

"...Is your teammate, yes," Daniel finished the quote with a hollow smile on his lips. "The very teammate the team always favored and sided with at the first sign of trouble." Alright, that sounded too bitter and resentful to his liking.

A pause. Another not-quite-stalemate.

Daniel failed to notice his mind wandering during that brief breath of silence; he was almost startled when he noticed the space between them had ceased to exist.

"I can take it," Charles said as he reached out to settle a hand on Daniel's jaw. There had to be words to describe the look in Charles' eyes, but none Daniel knew seemed all too fitting.

"You—what?" Goodness, did he sound like a warped record, thoughts too scattered, skipping everywhere. Talk about being caught completely off guard.

"Your anger, your frustration. I can take it," Charles whispered, glancing at Daniel's mouth before meeting his eyes again. "We can take it out on each other."

Charles tipped his head, an eyebrow raised—an unspoken question being posed. Daniel had to look away, chuckling before finally he finally nodded, still not quite grasping the absurdity of their circumstances.

Just as it had been fourteen time zones away, Charles' shove carried enough force to hurt. The hands grabbing his jaw were on the violent side, too, making Daniel's vision blur for a split second when the back of his head hit the composite wall panel. Daniel retaliated by biting down firmly as soon as their lips met, a sharp moan bubbling from Charles' throat. When Daniel licked at Charles' mouth, he tasted metallic.

They continued on like so for a while: drags of nails and teeth intent on leaving trails, grips on hips and shoulders strong enough to leave impressions, before they paused to catch a breath. Charles buried his face on the crook of Daniel's neck before nipping at his earlobe.

"Take it out on me," Charles reiterated in a soft murmur, placing a quick, chaste kiss on the corner of Daniel's mouth before sinking to his knees.

Both his hands gripped Daniel's thighs for balance, and he didn't miss the lingering look Charles fixed at the ink peeking from the hem of his shorts before he looked up at Daniel, pupils dilated, the same piercing gaze alight with intense heat.

Daniel cradled Charles' face with both hands, thumbs lightly tracing circles on his cheeks and then lips. Charles winced slightly when Daniel went over the cut on his lower lip.

And take it out on him he did.

* * *

The first time Daniel saw Charles don the (in)famous red for the pre-season testing in Barcelona, he thought it very much suited him. White had simply been too bland a color for a young man qualified to be the personification of the Sun itself. No, no, not as in the first light of the morning filtered through silk curtains, nor as in the warm, golden glow of late summer afternoons—more so as in the ferocity of the fusion of hydrogen nuclei in the solar core eight light-minutes away.

And soon the world would be able see Charles as such, too.

* * *

**III.**

Bahrain had been one to be purged from memory.

The sting of almost tasting success only to have it yanked away from your grasp at the very last gasp felt all too fresh to Daniel still. He would be more than willing to help Charles channel the bitter disappointment and burning rage he had to be feeling at that moment in whichever way he could—Charles needed only ask. He really could use it himself, too, and maybe then he'd be able to forget what MGU-K even stood for.

His phone never rang, however, and no one knocked at his door either.

A flicker of disappointment sparked on the remote corners of his consciousness. He managed to extinguish it in time before it raged into wildfire.

* * *

**IV.**

They came to an unspoken agreement that Monaco was off-limits. Lines simply had to be drawn, ground rules had to be established.

(Their encounter at the dressing room after the charity football match played in honor of  _ that someone _ they both held oh so dear? Never happened. Pretending was easier than having to face the guilt of having tainted something sacred.

Charles definitely did not end up at Daniel's place after the disappointment of a race in the streets of Monte Carlo either.)

Still they continued orbiting each other like stars in a binary system: closer, closer, on a collision course with a non-zero chance of mutual annihilation.

Of all the times they were together, some had been driven by the desire for mere distraction, some were laced with something else dangerously akin to affection. Other, rarer times, it had been a competition of who'd be first to reach his limits, who'd be first to destroy the other. Time and again they danced too close to the edge of what was within reason.

A man greater than he would've been able to refuse to entertain these irresponsible whims, but alas: the thrill of painting each other in scratches and bite marks, in crimson and violet, was too great a temptation for Daniel to resist.

(The few people who were in a position to see the marks on his body never did ask questions. Daniel had been careful in concealing them, anyway.

Charles, on the other hand, wore his as if they'd been medals of honor, trophies to flaunt—teamwear polo never quite zipped all the way up, shorts riding a fraction too high at the drivers' briefing, constant fiddling on the collar and hem of his fireproofs between sessions.)

That was all there was to it.

* * *

**V.**

Considering the season Daniel was currently having, the fact he only started craving to sink his toes into the warm sand of the beaches of California after Hockenheim had been quite an achievement. Understandable, too, bearing the weather on the raceday and the carnage it brought in mind.

Flying home to Australia had been top priority for him, for it would always be where his soul harbored; anything else he'd be able to do during the break he'd consider a bonus.

And what a bonus it'd been too. Awfully clichéd as it was, Vegas really was genuinely one of his favorite places to visit. Charles being added to the equation had simply been a lucky coincidence. Explained his terrible fortune at the casino, he supposed. Maybe Daniel had used it all up on his being there with him, brief though it had been—

Goodness gracious, that sounded hopeless even for his standards.

But well, how did the saying go again?  _ Whatever happens in Vegas… _

* * *

He arrived at the paddock refreshed, a new sense of purpose growing within him. True, at the moment Daniel was scraping for points instead of challenging for the top spot of the podium, but he had the support of the entire team behind him, and he'd very much like to work with them to get back to winning ways. Never would he be willing to settle for less.

* * *

The heaven-sent angel, the blushing bride—Daniel knew that Charles was very much aware of how this side of him was especially capable of sending Daniel into a tailspin. And he never could tell with complete confidence if or when Charles was playing an act.

Either way, the flush spreading across Charles' cheeks, the slight wrinkle on the bridge of his nose, and the pursed lips when he held up his phone to show Daniel a Story he posted on Instagram? A good look on him.

"What is this?"

The photo in question had simply been a snapshot of their bantering away at the press pen earlier that day. The caption, on the other hand, Daniel did come up with to try to get a rise out of him. He took the brief moment as Charles made his way over to contemplate an answer.

"That's me laying claim on you." Daniel grinned, almost his trademark megawatt one, though instead of the usual cheerfulness, he looked up at Charles with eyes ablaze.

"Oh," Charles simply conceded before setting himself down on Daniel's lap, making him let out an undignified yelp. Charles' eyes narrowed and the pout remained. "'Settle', hm."

"Yeah. You can be too testing sometimes, you know?"

Charles licked his lips, slow, deliberate, before shifting to straddle Daniel's right thigh. Both his hands were on Daniel's shoulders to anchor himself as he wedged a knee between Daniel's parted legs, pressing forward just so. "Make me, then."

He lamented at the fact that when it came to matters concerning Charles, Daniel had little to no defenses to speak of.

* * *

**VI.**

_ Not sure if I want to race tomorrow. _

_ Me too,  _ came the reply not too long after.  _ Call me? _

He did. They exchanged what little they wanted, needed to share between long stretches of silence, in trembling breaths and quiet sobs, in wavering voices caught in their throats.

After he tapped the screen to end the two hour-long call, he felt the turmoil in his chest calming. The tangled waves of emotions crashed into the edges of his consciousness, ebbing out. Weariness clawed at his bones, and before long, he succumbed into sleep.

Still Daniel woke up at first light bathed in cold sweat. He wanted to scream his throat hoarse, but even breathing was a struggle, so tar-like the air felt.

* * *

The monocoque felt smaller, the crash helmet heavier, the seatbelt and HANS more constricting than ever before.

Lights out, and away they went.

* * *

He sought Charles out at parc fermé, and let his embrace tell him of his relief and pride.

* * *

**VII.**

The chequered flag was waved, and a new king was crowned.

Daniel watched the podium ceremony from the Renault garage, and even there the roars of the tifosi when Charles held the winner's trophy aloft shook the space. He mirrored the luminous smile of the man on the screen, feeling that he too was awash with joy and something else he can't quite put a finger on, and it stomped away the vines of envy that was threatening to spread its stems in his mind before it had a chance to take root.

He'd stood at the top step of the podium himself, true, but it felt like a lifetime ago, almost, and Daniel was simply itching for another dose of glory. Fourth was a more than decent outcome, however. He knew which battles had been his, and picked them accordingly. After so long, it delighted him to finally, finally be able to finish a race where every puzzle seemed to've fallen into place.

And Charles deserved this, all right. This wasn't his first Formula One win—it was, however, the first time he got to experience winning.

Daniel thought it insensitive considering what had happened last Sunday and he held contempt at himself for it, but he really couldn't help thinking it. Charles deserved to feel that unmatched euphoria of being the first to cross the finish line, the adrenaline rush of holding the race winner's trophy aloft, the powerful feeling of nothing but pure joy. It truly was a feeling unlike any other.

The boisterous sea of adoring red followed them to Milan as people took the streets to celebrate the promised prince's ascension to the throne with banners and flags flown and vehicle horns blown. Not even soundproofing and double-paned windows could contain the noise and the energized air of that late summer evening.

Daniel only noticed a key card in his pocket which decidedly wasn't his own once he'd arrived at his own lodging. A three-digit number on the cream-colored sleeve was written in a familiar script. Math had never been his forte, but putting two and two together had been simple enough.

Thrilling though it might be, being thrown against the closing door having barely entered the room was still quite startling. "Hi," Daniel murmured to their almost-touching lips, eyebrows knitted.

Charles withdrew slightly, arms still around his neck, chuckling. "I did it," he sighed, "Daniel, I did it."

When Charles leaned forward again, Daniel had expected him to go for a kiss—that, he had answers for. Instead Charles pressed their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.

The smile on Charles' lips seemed content, and yet it was bursting with unbridled euphoria all the same. Such stark a contrast. Daniel felt his heart jump to his throat. He willed himself to ignore the traitorous reactions of his mind and body, sighing as he too closed his eyes, hands reaching to cradle Charles' face.

"Yeah," Daniel whispered. "Yeah, you did."

They stayed like so for a while, their breathing gradually synchronizing to one another's. Daniel's eyes snapped open when he felt heat against his fingers.

He'd witnessed Charles cry before: tears of anger, of anguish, of pain, of pleasure—but never of joy.

Daniel's mind further betrayed him as he felt himself being awash with affection, the wave of feeling close to making his gut flip. Was this what being truly, genuinely happy for someone felt like?

Sighing, Daniel wiped away the stream of tears before leaning to press featherlight kisses on the delicate skin under Charles' eyes, tasting the salt, the warmth, the relief. "Congrats, Charles," he hummed into his cheek, fingers tracing where his hair was cropped to length at his nape. Charles let out a quiet sob before taking a trembling breath, centering himself. "Thank you, Daniel." His voice still wavered slightly when he continued, "Your best finish so far this season too, no?"

"Yeah. Lewis and Bottas could've done me a solid and take each other out like the Mercs at—Barcelona 2016, was it? Then I'd be up there with you too." Daniel hoped the grin on his face bore enough resemblance to his signature one to fool Charles. Well, it did manage to coax a laugh out of him.

"Well, I saved you some champagne, at least?"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. Ridiculous as the idea forming in his head might've been, it was at least much less hazardous a territory than whatever it was they'd shared just moments prior. "Good. We can put it to good use." The smile he gave Charles was rich with conspiracy.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

In a fell swoop, he hoisted Charles up from the ground, carrying him with his legs wrapped around his waist. He laughed into Daniel's collarbone, the kisses there feverish.

This, Daniel knew the answers to.

* * *

They tumbled into one of the beds with much less grace than intended, as Charles had insisted on rocking against him as Daniel carried him through the suite, seeking contact with the taut muscles of his stomach. The movement and the feeling of his hardening dick against him worked hand-in-hand in sending him off his equilibrium.

Immediately Charles' hands started slinking beneath his t-shirt, trying to tug it off, so Daniel had to put a stop to it by pinning his wrists down with a grip that was just strong enough to hurt, all without having broken their kiss. They finally did part when he felt Charles struggle slightly against his hold.

"Not so fast. You promised me champagne," Daniel cocked his head, indicating the bottle sitting at the nightstand, the golden number one printed on its carbon fiber-patterned label glinting under the light.

"Well, help yourself."

Daniel climbed over Charles to reach it, the weight of the bottle distinctly familiar in his hand. Charles' gaze on Daniel was searching, almost on the edge of bewilderment, before realization overcame him. He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "We're going to make a mess."

"Nothing we haven't done before." Daniel swirled the bottle, gauging how much content was left inside, before raising an eyebrow at Charles.

Charles responded by pulling Daniel's head down for a kiss with barely a trace of gentleness. "Go on," he whispered then,  _ that _ smile returning: flirting on the edge of innocence yet was anything but, gaze sharp with challenge.

"Close your eyes," Daniel instructed— _ ordered, _ darkness and desire lacing the shifting semitone of his voice. Charles obeyed, mouth open and ready when Daniel poured the sparkling booze on him without care. It ran down to his hair, his ears, his jaw, soaking through the white designer tee he was wearing—Gucci, Daniel noted the tennis rackets printed on the chest in passing.

He dove in for a taste, going for the droplets clinging to Charles' philtrum first, down to his mouth, tongues slick against each other's. His fingers were tangled in Daniel's curls as he did so, yanking slightly.

The tang and the fizz he could recognize anywhere, yet every other ones Daniel had had seemed to pale in comparison to this—perhaps aside from the ones he'd enjoyed at the top step of the podium. Not quite satiated, he tugged at the hem of the t-shirt before pulling it up over Charles' head. For a heartbeat or two Daniel simply took him in: face flushed, lips swollen, hair matted to his forehead, breath thoroughly stolen. Quite a sight to behold.

Taking a trembling breath, Daniel picked up the bottle again and tipped it over Charles' now-bare torso, making him shiver at the cold. The liquid pooled in the hollow between his collar bones. Daniel lapped it up with gusto, teeth dragging against the skin. The salt from his sweat mixing into the champagne took off the dry, acidic edge.

Charles let out a content sigh. "Surely this beats a shoey?"

"Jury's still out," Daniel countered, laughing, lifting his head so their eyes could meet. Their smiles mirrored one another, although Daniel's was tinged with a touch of longing. His gaze glossed over for a passing moment before he heaved a resigned sigh. "Honestly? I almost forget how it feels, so I can't really compare anymore."

Charles' hand untangled from Daniel's hair, reaching to cup his face. "You'll be up there again." He then propped himself up on his elbow, pulling Daniel towards him and bringing their lips together. "With me," he murmured, their lips still touching. "Us, together."

Truly, Daniel admired his conviction. At the same time he hated, hated Charles' choice of words—more so than anything else, though, he hated himself for thinking that it could carry any covert meaning, that it could be interpreted any other way.

"That desperate to drink out of my sweaty boots?"

"Maybe," Charles snorted, laughing as he lay back down. "Have to tick that off my bucket list."

Trying to push his previous thoughts out of his mind, Daniel shifted his attention back to Charles, kissing and nipping and sucking and biting along the expanse of his chest, hounding for the taste he'd had just moments prior. One hand was propping himself up while the other was caressing the inside of Charles' thigh, moving ever higher up beneath the basketball shorts he'd been wearing. Daniel felt Charles tremble under him when his mouth went for his nipple while simultaneously petting his crotch, back arching to meet him. His fingers were back on his curls, pushing for him to move lower.

"Come on," Charles urged, needy, his tone sending a stir to the base of Daniel's stomach.

Daniel grabbed the bottle of champagne again and emptied it out, letting the liquid flow and splash against Charles' pecs and abdomen. It thoroughly soaked the thin polyester fabric of the shorts, making it adhere to his skin, clearly exposing the outlines of his dick. Immediately he leaned back down, pressing kisses and licking the booze trickling down the ridges of his abs, lower, dipping his tongue into his navel to lap at the traces of liquid there, lower still, before mouthing at his erection through the damp material.

Charles whined at the lost of contact when Daniel looked up so their eyes could meet. The growing impatience apparent in his gaze was truly amusing. In a swift movement he pulled Charles' shorts and underwear down, discarding it without care. Daniel felt tightening between his own leg, the stiff denim trousers he was unfortunately still wearing growing increasingly uncomfortable—though that was about to change soon enough.

Daniel stepped off the bed. He made sure to take sweet, sweet time when he pulled his t-shirt over his head and unbuckled his belt, noticing the way Charles' eyes tracked his every movement.

"God, Daniel, hurry up," Charles demanded, breathless.

He couldn't help but laugh before climbing back to bed, clad only in his boxer briefs this time, making sure to look directly into Charles' eyes when he stroked him into full hardness. How he enjoyed him like this, so pliant under him, keening, eager. Thousands might sing Charles hymns and hail his name, but the only name wrapped around their hero's tongue was Daniel's.

Still holding his gaze, Daniel bent down. Charles barely got anything beyond a positively maddening tease, at first, as Daniel took seemingly all the time in the world to caress his glans with flicks and swipes too slow, too self-indulgent. And despite the annoyance increasingly apparent in the rather colorful names Charles was calling him and the way he tugged on his hair, Daniel persisted for a while, the hand on his hip pushing him down to the mattress firm, unyielding. Delayed gratification and all that. A concept familiar to him, surely. When he finally did take him in, the last taste of the champagne was already mixed with pre.

Daniel suppressed the urge to smile and instead focused on the feeling of Charles against his palate, the friction against his tongue, the fit of him between his lips. It was all too sloppy for any semblance of finesse. From what Daniel could gauge of Charles' reaction, however—fingers digging the back of his neck, hips lifting to chase the heat, soft moans spilling from his lips—he supposed he wasn't too hopeless.

But then Charles breathlessly told him to stop.

Daniel did so at once and looked up at him, brows knitted. "Charles? Everything okay?"

"Yes," he breathed out with a slight faltering to his voice, but his gaze on Daniel was level, determined. Charles propped himself up on an elbow to properly face him, and so returned that smile so deceptively innocent though really anything but. "I want you to fuck me now."

What delicious a shudder ran down his spine, the shock of electricity heading straight for the pooling heat at the base of his abdomen.

" _ Jesus, _ " Daniel managed between his dazed laughter, enthralled by the boldness of Charles' request—demand, rather. "Sure, of course. Where's—?"

"Bathroom, toiletry bag."

Though he'd taken his time to climb on, Daniel rose from the bed with just a hint of haste.

He headed back and found Charles sitting at the edge of the bed, tracking Daniel's approach with a look so intense it almost made him fumble and blush. Daniel thought it ridiculous how he had that effect on him—he could've sworn not too long ago he was the one holding all the cards. As soon as Daniel was within arm's length, Charles stood and grabbed him, pulling him back so they'd fall together.

Charles kissed like he always did: to lay claim, to possess, to bleed dry. It made Daniel's head spin, being so wanted, so desired.

"Please," Charles whispered against his lips when they finally did broke the kiss.

Daniel sat back on his heels, not breaking eye contact while he uncapped and squeezed a generous amount of lube into his hand, rubbing it between his palms to bring it up to temperature. Daniel thought he might not be able to hold Charles' gaze any longer when he pushed a finger into him with utmost care, but the beautiful twist of his face was a reward he wasn't willing to deny himself of. Daniel worked him slowly, reading his cues as best as he could, gradually picking up pace as Charles adjusted to the touch. When he added another finger to the mix, Charles was meeting his thrusts halfway, greedy for more.

Daniel felt a hand circle his wrist, so he stilled and withdrew. "I'm ready," Charles breathed out as he gripped at his hair, tugging his head down for a messy kiss. "I want you."

Daniel wasn't sure how he managed to locate and put on the condom he tossed aside earlier with a semblance of composure.

There's a quality to the beat of silence that fell between them then, not unlike a held breath or the slightest of hesitation. Daniel felt not even an inkling of doubt or uncertainty of what he wanted, however: he wanted to bury himself in the memory of Charles' body. Perhaps then he would be able to continue to ignore whatever it was taking up residence in his heart, blooming the clarity of his mind.

So Daniel arranged them into position, steadying Charles' legs on his shoulders, then bent down to press a quick peck just shy of his clavicle. Daniel fixed his gaze on Charles again when he slowly pushed inside him, letting himself be engulfed by the searing heat and the feeling he knew he'd never get quite enough of.

* * *

They'd only ever spent the night together a handful of times before. Another might yet be added to the tally when dawn would break in a few hours' time.

There Charles was, head tucked under the curve of Daniel's jaw, limbs tangled with his, the rhythm of his breathing keeping time.

Taking care not to rouse him, Daniel shifted to get a look at his face: peaceful, open, yet as ever an impenetrable fortress.

The ghost of a line between Charles' eyebrows Daniel had not noticed before was telltale of a life measured in thousandths of a second, a life filled with astronomical expectations. Charles had entered the grid with all the words for glory already attached to his name: the golden boy, the future champion, the promised prince. The air Charles breathed in sang him sweet sonnets and waxed him lyrical yet cursed and hexed him in the same breath. For the time being, at the very least, Charles had proven himself worthy.

An urge to press a kiss there overcame him, but Daniel stopped just short.

Even when skin had been laid upon skin, the chasm between their minds would never fully close, so it seemed. Charles always seemed to recede as soon as Daniel advanced upon him, leaving but an impression of a smile and a distant memory of the iridescence of his eyes.

Sleep refused to claim him, even though he'd counted halfway through infinity.

* * *

**VIII.**

And verily, the life of a racing driver was a life measured in units of milliseconds—in units of microseconds, even, for an over-revolution of his MGU-K lasting exactly that long had disqualified him from qualifying. To the very back of the grid Daniel was sent, just his rotten luck.

Daniel had built his fame around his overtaking prowess, though, so he'd hoped to be able to charge through the field and clinch a decent result regardless. For the moment, however, he'd simply wanted a distraction from anything related to the grand prix, especially the Skypad lap review from the second free practice session.

He missed  _ it _ , he'd said—to have a teammate that would push him to the edge, a teammate that could bring the very best of him. He did not miss  _ Daniel _ necessarily. Daniel had long let it all go, or so he thought—the answer had stung, deny it as he might.

Another aimless wander through the city, perhaps? Who knew what the universe had in store for him this time around.

_ Wanna go out, _ he texted Charles.  _ Celebrate your pole? _

_ I have to stay in,  _ the reply arrived almost immediately.  _ But you can come over if you want. _

_ Where are you staying? _

* * *

When he answered the door, Charles appeared to be freshly showered, face flushed from the heat of the water, damp hair sticking out at odd angles.

"You missed a spot there," Daniel gestured at the patch of lather on Charles' throat, just to the right of his Adam's apple.

Charles reached to feel it out. "Oh?"

"There," Daniel touched the spot lightly, smiling. Charles disappeared into the en suite for a minute or two, in which time Daniel made himself comfortable by taking a seat by the dressing table.

"Better?" Charles asked as he emerged back from the bathroom, a blade dangling between his fingers.

Daniel raised his eyebrows. "You shave with a  _ straight razor _ ?"

"Yes?" Charles approached the table to put away his shaving kit, appearing puzzled. "Papa taught me, Lo, and Arthur how, he insisted on it." Melancholy filled the small smile Charles gave him. "We probably didn't even have facial hair then."

"I see," Daniel said, for lack of better response. He liked to think he knew Charles better than a lot of people, but still he managed to spark surprise time and time again. Instinctively, Daniel raised his hand and touched his jaw. Maybe he, too, should shave. "I probably should get rid of this before the race. It's boiling under the helmet."

Charles' smile widened and earned a dash of mischief as he made his way to where Daniel was sat, stepping into his space, resting one hand on his shoulder as the other reached out to cup his face. "I like the beard." Charles' fingers stroked it in slow circles. "Suits you."

"Do you, now," Daniel chuckled. "I recall you complaining about the beard burn on your thigh… when was that, Tuesday?"

Charles put a light smack on his cheek. "It's just a bit annoying."

"Mm-hm," Daniel snorted, taking Charles' hand and leading it back to settle at his jaw again.

"I can shave it for you."

This certainly wasn't how Daniel imagined the night would go, but the idea appealed to him very much, he had to admit, so he'd agreed. Charles collected the kit and headed for the en suite again, gesturing for him to follow.

They'd traded gentle touches and not-so-gentle ones alike, yet there was a different kind of intimacy in the way Charles' firm grip smoothed out the skin on the side of his face before carefully stroking the blade downward, the movement smooth, controlled. Daniel had wanted to crack a joke about hoping that Charles liked him enough not to take this opportunity to rid of a fellow competitor, but it fizzled out in his throat. After Charles was done with shaving the skin above his upper lip, Daniel tried taming his racing heartbeat by taking slow, controlled breaths.

Charles used the blunt side of the blade to tip Daniel's head up as he was about to start shaving his neck, and by heavens Daniel was caught off guard. He had to tighten his grip on the sink to anchor himself, feeling his knees falter. How easy it would've been to press on, so close the razor had been to his windpipe and jugular, he thought. A soft moan escaped his lips before he could contain it, and it made Charles withdraw.

"Daniel?" Amusement was apparent in his tone. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Daniel replied, struggling to keep from sounding out of breath.

The smirk playing at Charles' lips had a dangerous edge to it, but he simply nodded and continued.

"There, done." Pride shone in Charles' grin when he examined his handiwork, his touches on the curve of Daniel's jaw gentle, adoring, almost unbearably so. He tried to extinguish whatever it was that kindled a pang of longing on the most remote corners of his mind.

Charles stepped closer into his space, circling his arms around Daniel, nuzzling into the curve of his neck, warm breath tickling the skin. "Tough one today, hm?"

"Yeah," Daniel sighed, pulling Charles so they were chest to chest. He breathed in deep, the scent of Charles' hair as ever an antidote to his tumultuous emotions, though he'd rather not admit that even to himself.

Charles stepped back from their embrace, cradling Daniel's face in his hands again. "Then tomorrow you'll just have to… send it?"

Daniel laughed at his attempt at quoting him—A for the effort, still. "I have a reputation to uphold, yes." He placed a quick peck to Charles' lips before continuing, "And you can make it three in a row."

"I hope so," Charles whispered, beaming. Daniel liked thinking that this twinkle in his eyes was one reserved solely for him. "Stay?"

Daniel answered the question by pulling him close again and sealing their lips together.

* * *

Even by nightfall the air was still blistering hot and suffocatingly humid. Marina Bay was always going to be a true test of endurance for the twenty of them sitting inside the fastest race cars in the world, and a battle of wits for the many more engineers in the garage and pitwall.

In an ideal world, everything would've worked out as he wished: he'd storm the field, pull off his signature divebombs, cross the line with handfuls of points in the bag. Alas, this world was anything but.

Daniel had made tremendous progress before misjudging an overtake and going for a gap that had never been present in the first place, and everything had come undone. Live by the sword, die by the sword. Such was the life of a warrior.

It wasn't before he'd gone through his media duty that Daniel learned what had happened at the front end of the field, though: how the strategies had unfolded, how the results had been brought home.

He braced himself for the inevitable storm, hoping he'd be able to quell it, somehow. He ignored  _ why  _ he felt that he was compelled to do so.

* * *

Charles had given him a key card before he left that morning. He had been certain Daniel would show up at his door after the race regardless of the result.

And like clockwork, there he was. Though the realization made him ever so slightly uneasy, it was much too late to back away—the light on the handle had turned green, and the click of the door unlocking, though barely audible, carried an air of finality.

Daniel found Charles lying on his side diagonally on the bed with his legs dangling off, still clad in teamwear. His face was an unreadable void, though fatigue clawed at the edges of his blank gaze. His phone lay discarded on the floor, its screen cracked—it hadn't been last night.

"Hi," Daniel greeted, unsure whether to advance. No reply came. He made his way to Charles with a slight drag on his feet and a wry smile, sighing as he sat down beside him. "Charles?"

"They handed it to him just like that," Charles finally muttered after several more heartbeats of silence between them. "I was on pole! They told me to manage the pace, told me not to push—and—and I'm supposed to just accept—" He trailed off, taking deep, shaky breaths. "I  _ deserved  _ to win," he hissed, barely audible.

Daniel raked his brain in hopes of finding something to tell him, something to give him solace, but ultimately drawing blank—what he had in mind were either condescending or lecturing, or both simultaneously. True, he was the more experienced one. He'd had his share of having his race ruined left, right, and center, too. The timing was simply not appropriate for passing on life lessons, though, and especially not from him.

So instead he went for the much less complicated route, one much more often traveled, and squeezed Charles' shoulder, fingers tracing the collar of the polo. Silence came back to hang over them for a while, before Charles finally reached over, gesturing for Daniel to help pull him into a sitting position. Charles put his arms around Daniel, pressing his face against his neck.

"Help me forget, Daniel."

* * *

**IX.**

He'd heard it being discussed in passing by a number of people in the paddock. It had to have been brought up during the drivers' briefings at some point, too, perhaps he hadn't paid full attention then. So it wasn't until then that he learned what  _ exactly _ had transpired for Charles to take victory at Monza—the much too aggressive maneuver, the black-and-white flag that followed, the  _ curious _ leniency of the stewards when he committed another offence not unlike the one prior.

True, Daniel had enough of his own problems that needed solving pronto, for his own season too was less than ideal. Much to his dismay, his nature to nurture was simply not to be ignored, try as he might. It did not sit quite right with him to simply ignore Charles' growing trend of questionable behavior, especially from someone whose talent shone as bright as his. Perhaps the events that'd transpired here in Singapore could be a chance for him to learn? He certainly hoped so.

* * *

Sochi.

He watched the race highlights.

When Charles did show up at his door later that evening, all the words Daniel had been meaning to say to him dissolved in his mouth the very second he looked at him with a gaze that carried the rage of a star t minus zero from going supernova.

* * *

Suzuka.

Daniel's stomach dropped when his race engineer told him what had happened further up the field, where all the debris on track originated, how car number sixteen stayed out for much longer than it should have after the collision. Protesting team orders was one thing. Potentially endangering someone else's— _ his friend's— _ life and getting but a slap on the wrist for it, however...

And still, he held his silence. Still, he chose to stay complicit.

All this time Daniel had been fighting a losing game: a four-way battle between his greed, his heart, his desire, and his conscience. No winner in sight as of yet, and should one ever emerge, he'd still be on the losing side.

* * *

Just like it had been on their first encounter almost exactly a revolution around the sun prior—and the following ones alike—their tugging each other close and their meeting of lips and tongues carried enough force to hurt, to mark, to bruise. Daniel pushed Charles down into the mattress, trapping him with his arms above his head, both wrists being held with one hand while the other dug into his hip.

At the very distant reaches of Daniel's nebulous mind, guilt was threatening to form. Its momentum, however, lost out to the inertia of whatever it was that'd been growing inside him for a while now. Charles' magnetism was holding him like a vice grip—who was he really to deny him? (Daniel kept insisting that yes, he could have, had he been so inclined. But here he was, there they were.)

In spite of everything, however, he was still lucid enough to ask, "What are we doing, really, Charles?" A truly astounding feat.

"Does it matter? I thought we had an understanding." The defiance in the look Charles gave him was but a challenge to meet in combat.

Daniel's grip on him faltered.

An understanding. True enough. In a world where the rule of the jungle reigned supreme, one simply had to find a way to cope, somehow, and that was all there was, that was all there would ever be. Daniel should've resigned to this fact.

Alas.

"Yet in Bahrain you went to somebody else, didn't you," Daniel breathed out into whatever space was left between them before he could stop himself, the bitterness in his tone unsavory even to his own ears.

Such uncomely emotion, jealousy—even the slightest semblance of it. Especially so when he knew he had no right to be.

Charles recoiled slightly, irritation bleeding into his features, a quiet fury that found expression in the wry quirk of his lips and the narrowed eyes—a serpent ready to strike.

"Well, where were you after Austria, then?" He spat out his words, venomous as they were.

Where had Daniel been, indeed.

Physically, sure, he'd been there for Charles to serve as a punching bag, though fists had been replaced by kisses. His mind, however, he'd left at the celebration party with his former team that evening, where his not-so-distant past had caught up to him with a pace he'd failed to anticipate. Why he had accepted their invitation to attend, he'd never admit.

That night when Daniel had come back to Charles, more than once he'd caught himself imagining that the pair of eyes looking back at him had been the electrifying blue he'd once known all too well, and the locks of hair between his fingers many, many shades lighter.

There were times Daniel wished he'd been much less of an open book. Other times he wished he could simply rewrite the days gone by.

Daniel knew better than to carry on with their verbal squabbling, however, for it would lead to exactly nowhere, and instead opted to go on the offensive—and went for the throat in the very literal sense.

The twist on Charles' lips widened and morphed into a wicked, lopsided smile that perhaps would've been unsettling to look at on anyone else but him. Daniel felt Charles nod, taunting, the satisfaction to have yet again pulled his strings for a cheap thrill too apparent, too irresistible. How very easy.

His wish, his command, same difference.

"Give me  _ everything. _ "

* * *

Pain had its way of heightening one's senses.

The sting from the fingernails slicing open the skin of Daniel's shoulder blade and hip bone and the sharp ache from Charles' biting at his clavicle made him all the more aware of the pressure of Charles' heels digging into the back of his thighs, of the throb of his pulse under the press of his fingers, of the roll of Charles' hips as he met him halfway. Daniel had to pay careful attention to his racing heart and rapid breathing in an attempt to center himself, lest the sensations transmitted by his neurons and the consequent rush of endorphins pumping through his bloodstream overwhelm him much too soon.

Daniel felt Charles' fingers circling the wrist of the hand gripping his shoulder, guiding it to close on his mouth instead. So Daniel grabbed at his jaw and shoved his middle and forefinger between Charles' bright, kiss-branded lips. Immediately he started sucking on the fingers, the slick noises mixing with the sound of their hums and sighs of bliss, of flesh laying upon flesh. It was rather ridiculous how the fit of Charles' mouth and the curl of his tongue against the pad of Daniel's fingers could serve to amplify the searing heat threatening to incinerate the very last of his nerve endings.

As he withdrew Daniel noticed Charles' growing desperation in the way the grip at his hip tightened, urging Daniel to go harder, trying to guide him deeper,  _ more, more, more,  _ the plea loud and clear, resonating in the look in Charles' eyes and the increasing sloppiness in the way he tried to capture Daniel's lips. Unable to suppress a grin, Daniel made sure to hold his gaze as he picked up pace.

"Go on," Daniel whispered to his ear. "Touch yourself."

Charles was adamantly keeping from taking himself across the line, desperately close though Daniel knew he was. He felt Charles shake his head, resolve still intact though barely so, determined to prolong the chase just a fraction more, if he could help it.

"You're giving me too much credit if you think you don't need to," he teased, nipping at his earlobe before pulling back to arrange himself into a steadier position.

"Shut up and just—get on with it, Daniel."

No further instructions necessary, he did as told.

They were way past their series of firsts, but still the power Daniel's body wielded would never cease to fascinate him. It could leave one exposed, it could leave one vulnerable, it would leave one entirely at the mercy of his touch.

Granted, an opposite reaction would too be acted upon him, and he too was being exposed whenever someone became too near, became too dear. But he had always been the one to wear his heart on his sleeves, anyway—he intended for people to be lulled into the false notion of knowing everything there was about him. There wasn't a thing left to be bared before the world without his consent if he'd put it all out there himself, right? And so he thought himself impervious to being stripped off control, to being possessed by feelings he couldn't quite put a name to.

There seemed to be an exception to every rule.

They were way past their series of firsts, way past the fireworks and technicolor bursts.  _ This _ shouldn't put him skirting on the edge of delirium.  _ This  _ shouldn't make him ache with greed, keen to take more, keen to  _ give  _ more. All this was supposed to be but a mean to cope, a bleed valve designed to ease off the mounting pressure of the competition.

He committed to memory the way Charles' cheeks blossomed, the sweat matting his hair, the imprint he left on his throat and jugular. He committed to memory the splaying of Charles' hand against his back, the rake of fingers against Daniel's scalp, the way Charles' lower lip felt beneath the dig of his teeth. He committed to memory how Charles' glassy eyes fluttered, how his brows knitted and his forehead creased, how wrecked the sounds escaping his marked lips were. He committed to memory how Charles finally conceded and reached to touch himself, awkward though their position was, moving and breathing in bursts of arhythmic staccatos.

Daniel committed to memory the ache of longing that struck him when his name tore through Charles' throat as he peaked, the way the mounting tension was released like coiled strings snapping, leaving the shockwaves of his pleasure pulsing inside him, before Daniel then, too, surrendered and came with him not too long after.

* * *

He chanced a look over to the man lying at his side: caught in a losing battle to stay awake, consumed with bliss still, sweat sheen, the impressions of Daniel's very touches all bright and beautiful.

Seemingly aware of the attention, Charles too tilted his head to face Daniel. He searched Charles' eyes and came to a conclusion that he liked this version of him most: marked and enraptured, open and bared before him with no veil to hide behind. Gone were the false pretenses of being strong, of being unaffected by the weight expectations resting on his shoulders. Gone was the constant shadow of grief and acid detachment in his eyes.

_ In vino veritas,  _ but perhaps Daniel had just discovered another way to chance a peek into someone's truth.

The faintest of smile tinged Charles' lips before his eyes fluttered shut.

Tearing himself away from the sight before him and the warmth of the sheets beneath him was never supposed to be this tough a challenge.

* * *

Daniel did press a kiss between Charles' eyebrows, this time. Another on the almost-translucent skin below his left eye, feeling the soft caress of his lashes against his philtrum. Another on the freckle-dusted, flushed cheek. Another on his still-swollen, slightly parted mouth—and so from his slumber Charles was roused.

"Hey," Daniel greeted him with a smile, voice barely a whisper. "I ran you a bath."

Charles' eyes were already drifting back shut when he murmured, "Okay."

* * *

Trying to keep his hoodie dry as he lowered Charles to the bathtub was proven unsuccessful. His deliberately splashing water at him was not very helpful to his cause either. Daniel almost did wonder why he even bothered with putting on any clothing at all after the quick cleanup he did, though like every question fighting to get through the haze of his mind, the thought faded into background noise without ever materializing into full form. It was simply way past due to think about anything at all.

Charles too was too spent to properly laugh at Daniel's half-hearted attempt at complaining about his soaked clothing, but he did manage a weary chuckle as he settled into the warmth of the water. "Come on, get in."

No need for the half-lidded look and the unsuccessful attempt at a timid smile, really. Very much appreciated, however.

"Later." Daniel took a seat at the edge of the tub and reached out to cup Charles' face. "Let's take care of you first," Daniel whispered as his thumb ran over Charles' split lower lip, the one he himself pried open.

* * *

Picture this, just as Daniel had done time and time again:

He would've tried to raise the issue. He would've told Charles he couldn't keep getting away with everything. Perhaps Charles would've replied by asking what Daniel had meant, but oh, he would've known  _ exactly  _ what he had meant. Daniel would've then asked—begged—for him not to engage in mind games, not with him,  _ please,  _ for all he wanted was for Charles to realize his potential, for him to reach his very best, their being competitors be damned. Charles simply couldn't continue this vicious cycle of questionable actions and being acquitted of any wrongdoings; he needed a lesson in control.

Alas, conversations along the lines of the one aforementioned stayed but a series of scenarios in Daniel's head, not unlike all the arguments one definitely would've won, if only clever comebacks hadn't been reserved solely for the thoughts one would have in the shower.

Well, for the time being, at least, so Daniel told himself. Perhaps one day in the near future he'd find the moment.

Or perhaps he wouldn't, for whatever it was they were sharing—this  _ understanding _ —had always been so fragile, a hairline fracture could propagate into catastrophic failure. Not his place. No such thing as an apt timing, either, Daniel decided.

There, he finally found it: his apologia of choice.

Heaving a sigh, Daniel circled an arm around Charles, pulling him closer. They linked hands, fingers fitting over one another's with an almost heartbreaking ease.

Charles' still-lathered hair left a trace of foam on Daniel's cheek when Charles leaned back to rest his head on Daniel's shoulder. Though some made it to the corner of his eye, Daniel ignored the urge to wipe it off and simply let the suds melt away, stinging and blurring his vision. He did squeeze his lids shut as he leaned in to press a kiss on the side of Charles' neck, however, feeling the flutter of Charles' pulse against his lips—

Daniel's heart jumped into his throat, and he noticed the beat matched the rhythm of Charles'. The past, the future—the flow of time itself felt like it ceased to carry any meaning to him, and what mattered was that very fleeting moment.

_ Fuck. _

In the crevices off the beaten path of his rational mind, Daniel had known all along how ensnared he already was, always had been for quite some time.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Since he'd yet to meet the required quota of self-deception for him to alter his own perception of reality, what use would adamant denial be? Reluctant as he was, his options were strictly limited—Daniel simply had to admit the nature of his circumstances. He had to concede that he might've very well been chained to a cycle of addiction, a pact of helpless devotion.

There had to be an exception to every rule, even those one had established for themselves. Daniel seemed to have found one in Charles.

Never before had anything terrified him so.

**Author's Note:**

> Daniel/Charles wormed their way into my brain quite a while ago, and fragments of this work have been sitting on my drafts since (probably apparent considering how disjointed some parts of this reads). Wasn't sure if this would ever see the light of the day, but eh, might as well publish it. I think there should be more works with these two anyway, so as the saying goes: be the change you want to see in the world. Gandhi, mate, Gandhi.
> 
> This is my maiden attempt at writing anything explicit. Thought I'd challenge myself to cover some uncharted territory, and I have to say, bless all you smut writers, because damn it's _insanely_ difficult. Ultimately, though, the greatest challenge was capturing their characterization. I am thus requesting you lot to tear this fic apart. I really, really could use some pointers as I have only the vaguest idea of what I'm doing. Also, please notify me if I failed to tag anything. Hope you enjoyed this to an extent, regardless!


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